On the first day of spring
in a city on a hill
it's cold.
And it's raining.
It looks
just like the drearier days
of the past winter months.

The early crocuses shrivel away
from the overcast sky
and retreat into the warm earth,
only to be seen again once the sun returns.

Maybe tomorrow will be warm
and my heart will sing
with the birds
that only come out
in the spring.